


Under the Collar

by roebling



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Biting, Bruises, M/M, Necks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon really likes Spencer's neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Collar

**Author's Note:**

> (Coincidentally I do too.) 
> 
> 1100 some words of Brendon/Spencer necking & hickies. Not beta-ed & written somewhat sleepily. This seems to vary more in tone than something so short should. Inspire by a few delightful ideas [eledhwenlin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/pseuds/eledhwenlin) had on twitter.

"Has anyone seen my scarf?" Spencer asks, frowning.

Brendon glances sidelong and kicks the blue scarf further under the couch.

"It's cold and I'm getting sick and I'm going to get pneumonia and die," Spencer says. 

Brendon rolls his eyes. Spencer looks like he's in the bloom of health. It’s not that cold, and he doesn’t need a scarf.

It would ruin the view.

"I don't think you're going to get sick and die," he says. "It's not even that cold out."

Spencer frowns. "You're just impervious to temperatures. It's freezing in here."

Brendon smiles. "I know what would warm you up."

Spencer looks at the floor, quickly, and then looks back up. He always gets so stupidly bashful. Brendon kind of loves it, to be honest, and the loves the way the soft, white shirt Spencer's wearing sets off the faint flush of his cheeks. 

"I'll get you sick," he says.

"Nah," Brendon says. "I've got an immune system of steel."

That's a blatant lie, so blatant Spencer doesn't even bother to respond except to shake his head and smile fondly.

"Fine, fine," Brendon says, relenting on that point. "Um. Maybe we can just ... cuddle. Or ... no mouths?"

"So basically you want to go neck in the closet?" Spencer looks a little skeptical, but not entirely unconvinced. 

Brendon tries hard to look endearing and eager.

"Fine," Spencer says.

They don't go in an closet. They go into one of those weird little back rooms all venues seem to have that serve no discernible purpose. There's a card table with an empty soda can on it and folding chairs stacked against the wall. It is a little chilly, and the harsh florescent light and cinderblock walls are anything but sexy.

Spencer makes up for that though. His eyes are bright and he’s smiling a tiny, secret smile. 

Brendon walks him back against the wall and slips his hands under the collar of Spencer’s shirt. Spencer’s hands find his hips. Spencer’s shoulders are pretty incredible, and Brendon kind of wants to bite down into little wedge of muscle where his neck and his shoulders meet. He pushes Spencer’s shirt aside so he can get a better look, but Spencer tuts.

“Hey,” he says. “You’re going to stretch out the collar.”

“Geeze,” Brendon says. “Here I’m doing you a favor and warming you up, and all you can do is complain.”

But he obliges by undoing the top two buttons of Spencer’s shirt. There is a shadow in the hollow of Spencer’s throat, just where his collarbones dip; the skin looks very thin there, and Brendon thinks it would be so soft, under his lips. He’ll have to get to that; now he’s got other appetizing parts of Spencer on his mind. He bites down on Spencer’s shoulder, not hard, just enough so that Spencer squirms a bit.

“Don’t like it?” he murmurs. Spencer’s skin tastes clean and soapy, but if they did this after a show he would taste salty and rich.

“No,” Spencer says. “It’s good.” Brendon follows the line of his long neck up. His eyes are almost closed, just the thinnest wafer of blue showing between his lashes.

Brendon kisses along the line of Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer’s arm are wrapped around him more tightly. He kisses, tissue paper light, up the column of Spencer’s neck, following the line of the tendon. He bites at the round point of Spencer’s jaw, and kisses the red mark from his teeth. Spencer rolls his head back, just a little, giving Brendon a better view. Brendon takes that as an invitation. Tonight he wants to leave a mark. 

He kisses the red spot, and then bites again, and then soothes the sore with his tongue. Spencer sighs, content. Brendon loves it when Spencer is boneless and obliging and willing to be inveigled. 

Inveigle is a pretty funny word. Seriously. It’s totally a word Brendon would never use, except it was a clue in one of Dallon’s crossword puzzle one day and then everyone kept saying it for like a week after that. 

Inveigle. Heh.

“I’m inveigling you,” he whispers in Spencer’s ear. 

Spencer laughs, a happy deep vibration in his throat and chest. Brendon latches onto the spot, already a little red, just under his jawline. He kisses it, noisy and wet and harder.

“Hey,” Spencer says, batting at Brendon’s head mostly ineffectually. “Not there. Everyone’ll see.”

Brendon _wants_ everyone to see, but he gets Spencer’s point.

“Fine,” he says. He presses a last soft kiss to the spot and moves south.

He licks a stripe along the elegant line of Spencer’s collarbone and bites gently the point. His nose is dug into Spencer’s neck and Spencer’s chin is kind of digging into the back of his head but he kisses the hollow just below the rise of Spencer’s collarbone. The skin is fragile there, and Brendon scrapes his teeth over the bone. He nips and sucks and thinks with pleasure about the purple mottled bruise Spencer will have tomorrow. The little breathless noises Spencer’s making, and the press of his hips into Brendon’s, he takes as encouragement.

And then Zack pounds on the door.

“I know you’re in there, assholes,” he says. “Sound check in fifteen.”

Brendon bites down one more time on the little slip of Spencer’s skin between his teeth, and lets go, resting his head on Spencer’s shoulder. He breathes out.

“Maybe we can say we got locked in,” he says.

Spencer chuckles. He leans his head against Brendon’s. “He’d just break down the door,” he says. 

“Stupid Zack, making us be responsible,” Brendon says.

“We’ve still got a little more time,” Spencer says.

“Mmm,” Brendon says, smiling into Spencer’s skin. “Good. I’m not done.”

The next morning Brendon endears himself by finding Spencer’s scarf. Somehow it found it’s way into Brendon’s bag. So weird how these things happen on tour!

The next afternoon, Spencer wears the scarf to the meet and greet, wrapping it twice around his neck. Brendon’s sure all the girls think it’s very adorable. It is.

The next night, at the end of the show, he stands next to Spencer and throws his arm around Spencer’s shoulders. Spencer’s black shirt is buttoned almost all the way up. His hair is dark with sweat, is face is flush, and his eyes gleam electric under the stage lights. Brendon spreads his hand across Spencer’s chest and it could be his imagination but maybe Spencer flinches, just a little. Brendon closes his eyes thinks of the dark circle of bruises under the black cloth of Spencer’s shirt, an uneven necklace in purple and red hung by his lips around Spencer’s pretty neck. 

They bow and walk off stage. 

In the dim wing, he presses his mouth to Spencer’s nape and whispers, “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” Spencer says, voice hush, and he turns and pulls Brendon into the briefest kiss.


End file.
